


Alone

by Teland



Category: due South
Genre: Introspection, M/M, Self-Hatred, Sexual Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 1999-07-16
Updated: 1999-07-16
Packaged: 2020-12-28 22:13:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21144053
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Teland/pseuds/Teland
Summary: Fraser doesn't pollute his memories.





	Alone

The Ray who lives in Benton Fraser's mind is a   
portrait of motion, and only as clear as such. No  
painter -- however talented -- can truly capture   
the phenomenon of movement, and Fraser fears   
his mind is just as limited. There is only a flash   
of bare midriff here, the shine of sunlight on   
teeth there. The essence of desire is available to  
him -- but only through the most blurred of   
glyphs.

It is a hurtful thing, but a punishment dearly   
loved. And eagerly returned to. 

Some days Fraser wishes he could find some   
logical, practical reason to get his own apartment,  
if only to see if this Ray would pick him up every  
morning --

No, he cannot allow himself that lie. Whenever he  
thinks of having his own apartment he pictures   
nothing but a space containing Ray and whatever  
Ray is touching at a given moment. A lean defines  
part of a wall, impatient feet tap out the floor.

Square, beautiful hands, smaller than his own,   
grip the sides of a window frame as Fraser holds  
him.

Ray's body is lean, spare. The hardness of it is   
always a surprise, though perhaps not as much   
as it was on his first Ray. There was an elegance   
to Ray Vecchio that is blunted on Ray Kowalski,  
an ambiguity of form that is now conspicuously  
absent.

Ray, his new Ray, is small and very sparsely  
furred, but emphatically male just the same.   
Fraser wants to know what that feels like, and   
while his imagination continues to serve, it   
is no longer enough. His mind can't quite  
provide the images and sensations of a Ray in   
motion over Fraser's body.

His fantasies feature a Ray that smiles, but   
does not move. It's wrong, it's almost an   
obscenity, but it's one that Fraser cannot help  
but crave. In his fantasies he always winds up   
covering the still form with his own and taking  
his pleasure.

A brief, businesslike sort that leaves his body   
cold with sweat and his mind... 

The showers clear most of the sticky haze away   
but never all, and sometimes he feels the   
expanding layers of it on his skin. An itching,   
dark layer that is slowly obscuring him from   
the rest of the world, leaving him needful.

It is at times like these when his father feels   
most like a delusion, for he never comes when  
his thoughts are here. Surely he'd have   
something to say about the slow ruin of his son? 

No, right now Fraser knows the only solutions   
are the ones he provides for himself. There is no  
solution here; therefore there is nothing to be  
dressed in his father's clothes and trotted out   
before his conscious mind.

The trick works and the man himself appears,  
scowling, in the closet door Fraser has   
purposefully left open.

"You would disgust yourself if you would just   
let yourself *see*."

The rough, aged voice has just the right edge of  
indignant surety -- he can almost hear his father  
thinking 'my son is a fool, but maybe if I beat   
him across the head a few times he'll get it.' 

"I have you for such vision, Dad."

"You know, other children don't take their   
dead parents for granted."

"I'm not a child."

Silence, and silence, and when Fraser finally   
looks up again there is nothing there but his   
clothing. A shorter, more frustrating visit than   
usual. It's disturbing to think the man could grow  
even more terse after death...

Though he smiles a little at the image of his   
father eventually showing up just to glare   
meaningfully and disappear again... it would   
certainly make for fewer embarrassing   
moments with Ray --

Fraser winces. He can't avoid thoughts of the  
man at all tonight.

//He needs me.//

Something squeezes him inside at the thought,   
tugs him to sudden useless hardness. Welter of   
images, fast and vivid: Ray worn and strangely   
calm on top of a coffin, Ray weeping beside him,   
Ray bristling with unspent energy, smelling of   
Chanel and arousal and Fraser slips his hand   
into his boxers and the sudden movement is  
perfect, just perfect. 

For a heartbeat it was Ray's motion, too fast, too  
unpredictable to be anything else. Ray's hand,   
Ray's body close enough to touch for brief   
shocking moments of intimacy before he'd try   
to get away...

When he can, Fraser squeezes himself roughly   
and pulls his hand back. So far, he has managed  
to avoid slaking himself with Ray's pain and   
his own greed.

It used to be... easier.

He grits his teeth and listens for Diefenbaker's  
breathing. Steady, even. Sleeping. He has   
noticed no difference in Fraser, or is perhaps   
merely polite enough not to mention it.

Fraser stares up into the darkness and tries not   
to corrupt his memories any further. It will be a   
long wait until morning.

End.


End file.
